Twizzlers
by louicorn
Summary: It's been ten years since Santana left Lima. When she returns, she runs into the one person she could never fully leave behind. One-shot.


On Sunday mornings, not much is open except that deli two blocks from McKinley High, owned by this old Indian man, Raza, who looks sort of like Figgins. They're probably brothers.

He's been ripping me off since I was five, but during my high school days, I realized that the crazy old man was less crazy and more constantly high on weed, mostly to keep his mind off his actually crazy wife. So that made me like him a bit more.

It's weird, seeing him again. It's surprising he's still alive. It has been ten long, unexpected years since I left Lima.

But strolling into Raza's deli makes me feel young again. The familiarity of the crooked shelves, the soft scent of beer, and Raza's bloodshot eyes ease the years off my heavy shoulders. I came in for a pack of cigarettes, something I had no desire for back then, but I guess I've changed in more ways than that.

Yet the caving, musky shelves draw me in, and I wander deeper into the store, checking and subconsciously satisfied when finding certain products still in the same place. As I pass by a pack of Twizzlers, a smirk sneaks its way onto my face, and I reach for the bag of candy.

Then I see it, a hand I would never forget, touching the same bag of Twizzlers I just brushed my fingertips against. I look up, my heart thumping quicker than I would like, and she really is there.

She looks the same, just as pretty as she always was. But a smile slowly appears on her face, and I notice the wrinkles at her eyes that were never there before. She's older. My heart aches at that, and I'm not sure why.

"Santana!"

"I—"

"Oh, my God! Santana!" And she lets go of the bag of Twizzlers and jumps as she wraps me in her arms.

My arms circle her back, as easy as ever. I have not forgotten the shape of her muscles after all. "Brittany…"

"I can't believe you're here. What are you doing here?" Her eyes sparkle.

"Visiting the parentals, you know. The usual."

Brittany grins, probably because I used the word parentals. "I just got back, too," she says. "I can't believe I ran into you."

"I know. It's crazy."

"When was the last time we saw each other? Was it New Year's—"

"Christmas, five years ago, Rockefeller Center."

She tilts her head and smirks, watching me for a while. "Yeah, that's it," she says at last.

It's quiet for too long, not because I don't have anything to say to Brittany—God, I have so much to say to her—but there's nothing we _can_ say to each other. I must seem fidgety next to the natural bends of Brittany's shoulders, so I look down, clearing my throat.

"Oh, hey, have this pack of Twizzlers," she says, tossing the bag to me. "I've probably stolen enough of your candy as it is." I catch her fighting back a wink.

"You know you can steal as much of my candy as you want," I say. And it doesn't come off as cute, just honest and somber.

"Yeah, I know." She takes a pack for herself and gestures at the doors. "Wanna head out with me and get a coffee somewhere? Catch up?"

"Yeah." I follow her to the counter.

Raza looks us up and down; maybe Brittany and I haven't changed that much after all. But Raza doesn't say anything, and I see the cigarettes in the shelf behind him, remembering what I was here for originally. But I don't ask for them because Brittany's next to me, and around Brittany, I'm not a smoker or a cheater or any of those things I've become that I don't want to be.

* * *

"So you still like your coffee strong, huh?" Brittany smiles at my espresso.

"I like it even stronger." I smile back dryly.

"Of course you do." Brittany lets her eyes wander out the window we're sitting next to, and they travel farther than there is to see. I wonder if eyes can age because Brittany's eyes are grayer, and I wish they weren't.

She snaps her eyes back to me and grins again. "How are you anyway?"

"Not horrible. And you?"

"I'm okay."

"Yeah? You seem happy," I say with a smile.

"Do I?" Brittany sips on her coffee. The veins on her hand are more prominent than I've ever seen them. They remind me that she's capable and strong, but I don't want her to _need_ to be either of those things. I would be capable enough for us both, strong enough for the world. But we're not together, and it doesn't matter what I would be.

Brittany nods her head at the counter and says, "He thinks she's pretty."

I turn around in my chair and see the young man who just served us scrambling to get down an admittedly pretty girl's order. "He thought you were pretty, too," I say. It's true. He was even more flustered when Brittany ordered for us.

"I'm not sure pretty is still the word for me."

I shrug. "It's always the word for you."

"Oh, San." She shakes her head but is still smiling. "Maybe he was checking you out."

"Maybe." I've stopped caring about those things years ago. "But you're still prettier than that girl over there."

Brittany gives me a fake stern look.

"You're the prettiest, you know that." I sit back and drink my coffee.

"I'm not sure your girlfriend would like that."

I place my cup down and tip my head to the side.

"I've heard my fair share of gossip," Brittany explains.

"I see." I guess it was silly of me to think Brittany didn't know about Jennifer. "Well, it's the truth, whether she likes it or not. You're still the prettiest."

Brittany grins. "Really? Even after all this time?"

"You've always been the prettiest."

* * *

When we finish our coffees, Brittany hugs me, and I miss her smell. "Don't disappear again, San," she whispers into my ear.

I don't say yes because I don't want to break another promise.

* * *

_"San, this might sound weird, but I've never had Twizzlers before. They look too much like plastic."_

_ "Wait, really?" I started laughing, but Brittany smacked my arm, and I caught her hand in mine. "No, Britt, it's just funny 'cause I've never had them either."_

_ "Oh."_

_ "Yeah, so don't just go around hitting people like that," I teased._

_ "Santana!" Brittany tried to smack me with her other hand, but I grabbed that one as well, and I tugged her whole body into mine._

_ "Be good, Britt-Britt," I whispered. _

_ She mumbled something, but I didn't hear it because I was kissing her against the rack of Twizzlers, and Raza was probably about to kick us out again. _

_ "Let's get out of here, babe," I said. I tossed a pack of Twizzlers into Brittany's grocery basket, and we giggled as we approached Raza and his disapproving gaze._

_ "That'll be $9.50," he grunted._

_Brittany gave him a ten-dollar bill and skipped out of the store with our arms linked. "Bye, Raza!" she called out._

_As soon as we were outside, I ripped open the bag of Twizzlers and chewed onto one. Immediately, I made a face. "Try one, Britt," I said._

_Brittany bit into one as well and scrunched her nose._

"_These are fucking disgusting," I said._

_Brittany giggled. "They kind of are."_

"_Eww, never again." I threw the bag of Twizzlers at Brittany, and she gasped when they landed in her arms._

"_Santana!" she exclaimed._

_I ran toward my dad's old Lexus as Brittany chased after me, Twizzlers and Dr Pepper and all swinging from her arms._

_She slammed me against the door of my car before I could get in, and we panted against each other's faces. "Gotcha," she whispered._

_She kissed me, and she tasted like Twizzlers, which I just learned were gross, but the taste was perfect on her tongue, as was any other taste in the world._

"_I love you," I said after she pulled back._

"_Love you, too."_

_She cupped my face in her hands, and I stared into her eyes. There was always a new story glimmering in them; I couldn't look away. _

"_You're so pretty," I told her._

_She rested her forehead on mine. "You're prettier."_

"_You're the prettiest."_


End file.
